her favourite was control
by Annalisse Rubisher
Summary: Hermione Granger had a certain way of doing things, and greatly treasured her books, maths, and control. But, of course, control was her favourite... Pre-Hogwarts, Hermione-centric. Written for The Legendary Gods and Goddesses Competition, under Ra.


**Title**: her favourite was control

**Beta**: CleopatraIsMyName

**Disclaimer**: This work of fiction is in no way connected to the author of Harry Potter, JK Rowling. Harry Potter is owned by her, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Warning**(**s**): Canon-compliant poetical character study of Hermione Granger. This my headcanon of Hermione Granger. And this my first shot at poetry in _years_, so I'm pretty rusty :D This is strictly gen.

**Competition**(**s**): Written for Ra from The Legendary Gods and Goddesses Competition on the HPFC forums.

**Summary**: Hermione Granger had a certain way of doing things, and greatly treasured her books, maths, and control. But, of course, control was her favourite...

* * *

Hermione Granger was one of meekness and shyness, her back hunched over a tome

But the people around her, the kids at her school

They were quick-tempered and naughty, always shouting their joy

They _never _listened when she spoke, so she kept her silence

Unless they had angered her, but to her best knowledge

This only happened when she was entrenched within a book, away in a world

Ones of heroes and villains, and then ones of truth and fact

Books were her friends, the others were just bothers

She brushed those pests off, muted the sounds of their voices

As they mocked and they jeered, and gloated their banality

For she knew she was odd, and knew she was unique

So why did they feel the need to remind her, of those two lone extremes?

Each gloat made her stutter, and each laugh made her scowl

But she could deal with the teasings, and she could deal with the names

So with a sigh of exasperation, an exhalation of air

She ducked her head and kept to her books, to those tales that lay bare

/

She didn't like crowds, the push and the pull

Too many things were around, too many variables to gauge

They could go wrong, could all be flawed

Preciseness, exactness

Diligence, sedulousness

So she made sure of the fact, that _nothing_ went wrong

Everything was perfect, unless she went wide of the mark

But that never happened, nothing of the sort

Because she treasured the art of exactness, she loved her maths and prose

So she made sure she was correct, and she was almost never wrong

She trudged and she kicked, said that it was a bother

But then kept her silence, went it always turned sour

She knew the crowd would thin, and she would be home within the hour

So she occupied herself with counting and reading what she saw, taking it all in stride

/ /

She knew she was special, when peculiar things happened

She wanted that cookie, the one in the jar

A book was atop of a shelf, too high for her to simply grab

With a small gasp and a gulp, a sharp intake of breath

Both the cookie and book she had sought, they would be by her side

Just what was that, what had she done?

Maybe she was Matilda; she had done strange things

Using only the power of her mind, her brain and her logic

But when Hermione tried, and she had concentrated so

She couldn't make it work, no matter what she had done

With a scoff and a shrug, a snub and a slighting

She had ruled it undependable, it was of her own invention

But at the back of her mind, she knew she had no true explanation

For the things she had done, and the things that had happened

/ / /

When she was nine, she had made friends with a girl at school

Though Hermione had bushy brown hair, and she boasted her achievements

This girl had been sly and mischievous, the Cheshire cat personified

She had confided in this girl, her first truest friend

That things had happened around her, events with no clear reasoning

That nice girl had gleamed, and with a leering-sort of smile

Had promised to keep mum, that she would never speak

Of the things Hermione had said, and of her capacity and flair

But the next day, when she had made it to school

She realized those were lies, not the truth that she had thought she knew

That friend she had made, she looked on with a grin

As the children around her whispered, mocked those things she had disclosed

Parroting back what the slick girl had told them, of the rumours they had heard

She pledged to herself that day; such a foolish error would never again occur

/ / / /

When she was eleven, she hadn't expected

That she would get, a surprise on her birthday

And envelope had arrived, right in the mail

It had been addressed to her, a precious gift from above

For her, it had vowed, a place she could thrive

"Hermione Jean Granger," it had boasted upon the left

Magic, it spoke of, was a gift she could hold

As if it were real, as if she was able

It was possible, it were of truth and substance

It would help with control, would help with that art

She liked control, and she loved to learn

Nothing would go wrong, everything would go right

Like the things she treasured, she would perfect this new craft

And make sure that the things that could go wrong, would never do so again

/ / / / /

Her parents hadn't believed her, had said it was false

That the letter she had received, the one she had treasured

Had been a scheme of sorts, that it had been a mistake

Until a woman in neatly pressed robes, and a smile on her face

Lead them all to a pub, and behind that a magical place

Then they had smiled their smiles, and grinned their grins

"Hermione, what a smart child," her mother had extoled

"Hermione, so gifted," her father had nodded as well

They had praised and applauded, had beamed and cooed

And she knew she would be alright, though it would be new

This skill she would master, would possess and control

So she bought those books and stuffs, and she even bought additions

Practicing hard and fast, burning the words into her mind

Because she would never allow anything less, for it wasn't in her nature to be uncontrolled and unrefined

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Please, _no_ flames. I would, however, love to know how you felt about the way I captured her. Do you agree? Do you disagree? How do you picture her?

I'm interested in listening to those that offer concrit, too. Poetry is _not_ my strongest style of writing. I want to improve, though :D

Oh, and lastly:

**Inspired by**: Creamtea's H/G Love Potion Theory (Link can be found on my profile)


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